Before I Knew (The Cabots #1)(20)

After snipping the bottoms off the pink and yellow tulips he’d bought, he arranged them in a square vase. She’d always liked tulips. And hydrangeas. And peonies. Pink peonies. Pink like her lips . . .

He shook his head. With only a few hours at hand, he needed to start cooking. Table setting and daydreaming would have to wait.

As an executive chef, he rarely got to cook at work. He’d almost envied his chefs de partie at times. Tonight, however, he’d indulge his love for food and aesthetics without interruption or pressure. Or a never-ending line of dinner orders from the front of the house.

Methodically, he began pulling out cutting boards, bowls, and platters. He smiled, recalling when he’d first been taught the importance of mise en place. Everything, everything, would be set out and organized before beginning—cookware, utensils, recipes, ingredients, and prep.

A quick glance at the clock made him work faster. Thankfully, he’d been experimenting with a new sorbet yesterday. Colby and her mother had always had a sweet tooth.

This meal marked the first time he’d ever cooked specifically for her. Sure, she’d sampled his experiments in the past, but those had been recipes he’d made for himself. He supposed this, too, was for him in some ways. To keep his job and persuade her to alter her vision. But still . . .

Gingerly, he unpacked his knife roll. His best friends, sadly. Razor sharp. Perfectly worn handles. The most prized: the Messermeister Meridian Elité chef’s knife he’d received as a parting gift when he left France. He set his hands on the counter and drew in a cleansing breath. Some people worshipped at the church altar. He did so in the kitchen.

At work he could never listen to music, but at home he could crank it up. He scrolled through his phone to find Nirvana’s “Come as You Are” and hit “Play.” A tune that turned back the clock, almost as if he thought he could finally go after what he’d always wanted.



Alec folded the napkins to resemble water lilies and then set them on the table between spotless, gleaming silverware. He lit the tapered candles and placed the flower vase in the center of the table. Little details made a difference, even if Colby didn’t yet realize it.

After a moment he remembered she’d never much liked the grunge-music scene, so he opted for Jason Mraz. He swiveled, checking to make sure everything was set. His pulse throbbed in anticipation.

An olivewood platter with charcuterie and cheese, grainy mustard, and Johnny-jump-ups sat waiting on the kitchen bar next to a basket of homemade multigrain crostini. He had chilled prosecco on hand, and—

Knock, knock, knock.

His stomach clenched. Another quick glance made him wish he were living in something nicer than a cheap rental apartment.

Knock, knock.

He opened the door. “Sorry. Come in.”

Unlike him, she hadn’t changed her outfit for the occasion. Of course not. To her, this was nothing more than a quick business meeting. One in which she likely planned to hold him to her ultimatum.

“Thank you.” She kept her gaze locked on his as she stepped inside. “I won’t keep you long, I just—” She paused, having peripherally noticed the ambience. Her eyes widened. “What’s all this? Do you have a date tonight?”

“No.” He fought the flush rising up his neck. “This is for you.”

“For me?” She wandered to the table and fingered one of the napkins, brows pinched in the cutest show of confusion. “I thought we were going to talk about our disagreement.”

“We are . . . in a manner of speaking.” He went to the kitchen, tossed a hibiscus bud in a champagne flute, and filled it with prosecco and a dash of St-Germain elderflower liqueur. “Have a drink and try some cheese.”

She hesitated before taking the glass from him. “Ham?”

He tsk-tsked. “Jamón ibérico, from Spain.”

Her sardonic stare reminded him that she didn’t appreciate the distinction.

“Yes, Colby. Ham. Very special ham.”

“So special it needs flowers, apparently.” She grinned, fingering the Johnny-jump-ups on the platter.

“Those are edible. Minty. Good with the goat cheese.” He made her a crostino with cheese, meat, and the flower. “Try it.”

He then spread some mustard on another piece of toast, covered it with “ham,” and popped it in his mouth. The combination of salt and spice with the hint of garlic-seasoned olive oil on the toast sprang to life in his mouth.

“This ham is delicious.” Colby said.

“I’m glad you approve. We should include a proper charcuterie-and-cheese selection on our menu. And as you can see, it’s not fussy, although it makes an impression.”